


With Dust in Throat

by Tabithian



Series: Light the Path [25]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4815884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a start. Or close enough to one to matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Dust in Throat

**Author's Note:**

> Anon asked for JayTim with this prompt: 
> 
> [“my parents moved me halfway across the world when we were twelve and before that we were best friends but now i’m back and moving in across the hall from you so hi?” au](http://tabithian.tumblr.com/post/128441831304/here-have-some-aus-as-if-there-arent-enough-on)

The apartment's supposed to be empty, is the only thought running through Jason's mind right now. On a loop, slight hysterical edge to it as the seconds tick past.

“Um.”

Jason is.

Okay, he's kind of bleeding a fair amount here. Lucky punk with a knife, and -

“This apartment's supposed to be empty.”

It's right next to Jason's apartment, and there's. 

Look, he reads. 

Thinks things like secret passages and whatnot are kind of cool. A neat little trick for a guy who goes out at night in a weird costume to fight crime. (And maybe there's some holdover from Jason's time at the manor, or this is just a thing people in their line of work do, who knows.)

It won't throw anyone completely off his trail if he's being followed (Jesus, no), but it might buy him a bit of time.

Or something. Fuck, Jason doesn't know, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. 

“The hell are you doing here?”

Tim, and there's no mistaking that it's him, goes from light frown at finding a bleeding guy in a weird costume in his living room to scowling up at him.

“I live here?” he says, crossing his arms. “What are you doing here?”

There's a pause, Tim looking Jason over. 

“Besides bleeding all over the antique rug my parents gave me as an apartment warming gift, I mean. So, you know. Thanks for that?”

This really shouldn't have happened.

Jason's name is on the lease for both apartments, even if the one for this one is a little on the made-up side of things. (Barbara had taken care of the paperwork for him, after Jason provided her with prime blackmail material on Dick she somehow had never gotten her hands on.)

“Christ, you haven't changed at all, have you?” Jason asks, still bleeding away. “Also, you have a first-aide kit around?”

********

“You make a pretty good nurse, you know,” Jason says, eyeing Tim's handiwork.

Better than Bruce. The stitches are neater, at any rate. 

Tim makes a noncommittal noise, head tipped to the side as he studies Jason.

Jason.

He should really get the hell out of here, have a little chat with his landlord about this whole apartment business.

But then Tim sighs, and says, “You stopped sending letters.”

Jason stares at him, wonders how the hell Tim even knows it's him – 

Tim smiles, that tiny one that Jason remembers so damn clearly, and turns his arm over. 

Like a reflex, or maybe just the part of him that never gets tired of doing stupid shit, Jason's eyes go to Tim's wrist. 

Finds the really shitty tattoo there. 

It's horrible. The lines are all fucked, and Jason's pretty sure whoever did it for him was a complete asshole. 

Definitely not a professional.

“Christ,” Jason mutters, and doesn't bother looking at his own wrist. 

Not when Tim obviously got a great look at it earlier. Saw Jason's equally terrible tattoo while he was stitching Jason up.

Tim _hmms_ , faint smile touching his lips. “I still can't believe we didn't die from that.”

Homemade tattoos? Not a great idea.

But when your best friend's moving halfway across the world when you're a stupid, snot-nosed kid, suddenly it's best damn idea anyone's ever had.

Jason's honestly amazed Tim went along with him on that, because Tim is usually smarter than that. 

“Hey,” Tim says, and there's a little thread of uncertainty in his voice. “So, I'm back in Gotham now.”

Jason stares at him for a long, long moment.

If he's back in Gotham, that means Bruce knows, creepy asshole.

Which means.

Barbara probably knows, and if she knows, she could have arranged things for Tim to get this apartment since she was handling the paperwork for Jason. (Everyone knows about Jason and Tim, and how the kind of plans you make when you're a stupid, snot-nosed kid don't mean a damn thing.)

There's.

Jason's going to have a little talk with her later, and Bruce too, just because.

Goddamn _meddlers_.

Blurts – because why not be a complete mess right now? - “I died.”

Being dead makes writing letters to people just a bit difficult, among other things.

Tim.

“I heard,” Tim says, watching Jason carefully.

Jason knows. He knows knows Tim was at his funeral.

He has pictures, thanks to Talia, and a quiet little comment from Bruce the one time they were able to talk about it like the adults they're supposed to be.

Tim came halfway across the world for Jason's funeral, before his parents dragged him away from Gotham again.

Tim's still looking at him.

Worried, like he's not sure of himself, _this_. 

And because Jason's no done being a disaster of a human being, “I got better.”

“I heard about that too,” Tim says, looking down at that damn tattoo on his wrist. “That's why I came back to Gotham.”

Another long moment of silence passes between them, not quite like the easy silences they used to share when they were kids, but. 

Tim looks up at Jason. “Why else would I come back here?”

Jason laughs, rubs at his face. “Because you're a goddamned idiot?”

And Tim, Tim who hasn't seemed to change after all these years, shrugs.

“Well, yeah,” he says, like that much is obvious. “That too.”


End file.
